


Kaunaz

by SeaWitch



Series: Kaunaz [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Some Sex, Swearing, before October 1981, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 06:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9308894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaWitch/pseuds/SeaWitch
Summary: Leeds, 1980, the war rages on. Severus Snape has a job to do.





	

Severus Snape looked around him at the seething mass of bodies. The smell of sweat, stale beer and smoke hung heavily in the air, and he sneered with disdain. A punk club in Leeds was not the sort of place he would have frequented voluntarily, though he was painfully aware that had he been born a Squib this was the life that would have called him. Dissatisfaction. Disillusionment. No opportunity. No future. He scowled.   
  
It was not a place where one would expect to find Bellatrix Lestrange, either, yet there she was. Snape folded his arms across his chest and studied her from a distance. She moved with the fluidity of a predator through the unknowing crowd, heavy-lidded eyes sparkling with fanaticism.   
  
She slipped through the dancers, avoiding the jostling bodies, radiating both power and subtle menace. A denim-clad youth with spiked hair caught her arm, intent on dragging her close. Snape chuckled as her assailant went rigid, snatching back his hand as though burned. Her lips curved in a satisfied smile as she continued across the dance floor.   
  
Snape pushed away from his corner and drifted after her as she moved towards the stairs that led up to a balcony overlooking the club. Fewer patrons were gathered there, and it afforded a clear view of the premises. Snape smiled in approval; it was exactly the strategic point he had expected her to choose. From above, she could see the entire premises. From above, she could watch the carnage as she shattered the vial, no bigger in size than her thumb, concealed on her person, and infected every single Muggle in the place. The virulent, magically enhanced plague would kill some tonight, and the survivors would transmit the infection to everyone they touched. None would be spared.   
  
As he reached the top of the stairs, he sought her out and found her leaning against the railing eyes eagerly flickering over the Muggles below. Snape joined her, resting his hands on the metal – near hers but not touching.   
  
"You look lost, Bella. Shall I direct you to the location of the raid?" He enclosed them in a little bubble of quiet; no sense in shouting over the music.   
  
She turned scornful eyes upon him.  
  
"If I am lost, Snape, then you must be as well. I could hardly rely on you to tell me where to go."  
  
Snape’s lip curled as he thought of exactly where he would have liked to send the intractable nuisance Bellatrix had become. She glared at him, eyes flashing as he settled against the railing, crossing his arms, and looking out over the crowd.  
  
"I would not have picked you as one for leather," Bellatrix commented, letting her eyes drift over him, and he noted a hint of appreciation in her regard. A plan began to form, slowly but promisingly. "The black, however, comes as no surprise."  
  
"It doesn’t show the blood."  
  
She barked out a laugh, eyes losing the suspicious cast briefly. In moments like those, he thought, one could look beyond the danger and the madness inherent in her nature and almost see her as attractive.  
  
"And you chose to forego the raid tonight for what reason, Snape?"  
  
"I find rape tedious," he answered. "It lacks subtlety."  
  
"I’d have thought our Master would take umbrage with such an assessment of this evening’s activities."  
  
"Our Master accords me the same latitude to pick and choose as he does you, Bella."  
  
"You are a favourite." Her voice was cold and full of distaste. Snape was unsurprised. Bellatrix had lost her status as a sole favourite some months before, ceding her place first to Snape himself and then to her sister. He supposed this scheme of hers was an attempt to win back her former privileged position.   
  
"As are you, Bella." He caught a slight flinch around her eyes, and thought to pursue it further, but was distracted by a flash of red below. Riveted, his eyes latched onto a sweep of red hair, unable to look away as a dark head followed behind. Of course, he thought. Of course  _she_  would be here to complicate things. The pair of them had more bravado than sense. Bellatrix had obviously not been discreet.  
  
"Why  _are_  you here, Bella?"  
  
"Our Lord had no need of me tonight," she replied waspishly. "I have been left to my own devices  _again_. To be left with the simpering wives and lovers, fawning over Narcissa’s growing belly, is not my idea of an evening’s entertainment."  
  
"I would imagine not." Snape turned, resting his hip against the railing and looking directly at the witch.   
  
"They cluck and they fuss as though Cissy has done something  _marvellous_  when she is just doing her duty to her family." Her voice had turned harsh, knuckles whitening as she gripped the railing.  
  
"As  _you_  should be," he said, raising a hand as she rounded on him. "If Rodolphus would only touch you. I know he hopes to solidify his standing by your bearing our Master an heir." Which would never happen - the Dark Lord had wound so many dark spells and corruptive forces around himself to be capable in joining with another to bring forth new life. Lestrange's hope was a forlorn one, one of which his Master had yet to disabuse him.  
  
"What would you know, Snape?" she responded with a sneer. "What witch alive would willingly touch you?"  
  
From the corner of his eye, he could see  _her_  moving through the dancers and wondered if  _she_  could sense his presence. He knew, he  _knew_ , if he closed his eyes he could still point out the direction  _she_  would take. He could almost feel her heartbeat … smell her …  _taste_  her over the cigarette smoke.  
  
"You'd be surprised, Bella." And so she would, he thought with a smirk. "I'd wager I've had more sex than you, these past six months."  
  
Black-painted fingernails dug into his wrist as she bridled beside him.  
  
"Why are you  _here_ , Snape?"  
  
"You don't know?"   
  
She glared at him, releasing her hold as she turned her back on the dance floor.  
  
"You are not one to be easily read, Snape," she ground out through clenched teeth. "You're as transparent as a lump of obsidian." A cunning look crossed her aristocratic features. "But Regulus seems to have known more about you. He had such interesting things to say," she said confidingly. "Such very interesting things."  
  
"Regulus was an idiot," he countered. "I very much doubt he had anything cogent to say." His blood ran cold, even as his eyes sought out the red hair below. A dark head leaned in close; he could tell from the angle that he was kissing  _her_. His fingers itched to throw a hex, but that would be to no good end.   
  
"Rash, naive and a screamer," she conceded with a smile of fond reminiscence. "But he was perceptive about … certain things."  
  
"I find that hard to credit," Snape answered dryly as he ran through memories of the brief time they had shared lodgings. He had been reckless, and Regulus, though young, was no innocent. Tangled sheets, certain scents all the clearer to an Animagi's nose, bruises, soft sounds in the night, absences that went unexplained, a hint of perfume on his clothing. But was any of it identifiable? Regulus had never said anything. He realised Bellatrix was studying him, still wearing that soft smile.   
  
"Oh yes, how he talked and talked. About anything and everything. It was all tangled towards the end." She tilted her head, considering him. "He called you Moth, Snape. Can you think why?"  
  
"I have no idea." The couple below had separated, drawing out to arm's length before their fingers parted. He could tell  _she_  was laughing. He always could.   
  
Bellatrix leaned close enough that her breath warmed his cheek. "It makes me wonder, Snape,  _who_  it is you will dance around in that ever tightening spiral to your death."  
  
Snape seized on her words eagerly. It could work. He could make her vulnerable and find the vial she carried.  
  
Without looking, he felt  _her_  turn, face tilting up as she scanned the club, searching. He set his back against the railing, the heat of her gaze brushing across him, lingering for only a moment.  
  
"And you can't guess?" He laughed self-deprecatingly as he looked at Bellatrix.  
  
"Really. Why do I find that hard to believe?" She sneered at him, stepping away.   
  
He felt the touch of  _her_  gaze again, a longer, caressing glance that tightened his chest with longing. He willed himself not to look away from the older witch. He could not afford to call Bellatrix's attention to  _her_ , but he  _could_  use the emotions she stirred. He allowed heat and desire to spill into his eyes.   
  
She paused, wary and watchful. "Prove it, Snape," she replied, a clear challenge in her eyes. "Prove it."  
  
Snape reached out and took her hand in both of his, turning it over and raising it to his lips. Eyes as dark and as cold as his own glittered as he pressed a soft kiss to her palm before biting down hard into the flesh at the base of her thumb. He felt her shudder, and pressed his advantage, nipping at the pulse point at her wrist before drawing her slowly towards him. She came, unresisting, black fire blooming in her eyes alongside speculation and triumph. He smiled, knowing it was predatory and not caring a whit what she thought it meant. He had her.   
  
"Bella." He allowed his voice to drop into the register of heat and darkness, of debauchery and depraved longing. She swayed closer, still wary, but intrigued. "Bella, one such as yourself should be worshipped."  
  
"Words are cheap, Snape. Prove it."  
  
He nodded once, and still holding her hand, he led towards the lavatories and relative seclusion.  _She_  was approaching the stairs, it would not do for her to see them. He trifled with the thought that it would serve her right to see him wrapped around another woman, this particular woman. The anger rose in him, and he quashed it ruthlessly. He had a task to complete; he could not afford to be distracted by  _her_.  
  
He slammed open the door, startling the young woman alone inside. She glanced at the pair of them and scuttled out, cringing as she brushed past. Snape laughed, the sound echoing in the tiled room. A wave of his hand, and the door was secured behind them, all sound outside silenced, and all sound within muffled. He planned to make her scream.   
  
"Private, aren't you, Moth?" she sneered as she studied herself and his reflection in the mirrors.  
  
"I am," Snape crossed to stand behind her tangling a hand in thick black hair and pulling her head back to expose the line of her throat. "But some things are better conducted in secrecy."  
  
"Show me."  
  
He caught her gaze reflected in the mirror, and watched her lips curve in a devious smile as he felt the first brush of her mind against his. She was clumsy – where their Master was a scalpel, incising his way through layers of memory, Bellatrix was a butterknife. He let her see what she expected to see, wanted to see: his lust for power and standing among their circle; his lust for her, a pure-blood, far above him; and deftly wove his way into her own thoughts, unnoticed and delicate. He did not waste his time sampling her memories but sought, and found, precisely what he needed.   
  
Snape allowed her a few more moments to rummage through his thoughts and then kissed her throat, letting his eyes slide closed. Bellatrix slipped from his mind, distracted by his hands on her body and his tongue in the hollow behind her ear. Really, it was disappointingly easy.  
  
She twisted from his hold and knotted her own fist in his hair, kissing and biting at his lips. It was vicious and almost brutal, and he knew he would be marked later, but he didn't care. He dragged his hand up the front of her dress, unspelling the clasps and exposing her to his view. He held back a snort of amusement as he realised she was completely naked beneath the dense fabric. She was a shade too thin for his taste, ribs obvious beneath the pale, pale skin. She pushed his head down, dictating his role in this interlude of theirs. He was beneath her. But he did as he was bid - after all, he was trying to lull her into complacency.   
  
The first touch of his mouth to delicate flesh and she was gasping above him, her hand almost painful. A second touch, and she writhed, hands tugging at his hair. A third, and she trembled beneath his mouth, hands flailing.  
  
Freed, he rose directing her back against the wall, sliding his fingers along her arms to pin her hands above her head before murmuring a spell to bind them as he ghosted his lips across her cheek, her breath hot and unsteady in his ear. He lifted her and pressed inside, eyes still closed, as memory rose unbidden. Shorter legs twined around him, sharper teeth at his neck. Brightly burning rose and gold, scorching heat, against the pallor of his own skin. Stolen hours, hoarded minutes. His name a sigh, a scream, a plea; wicked laughter and desperate need.  
  
He came with a snarl, clutching her hips so hard there would be bruises later, and felt her clench tight around him as her teeth worried his neck. He withdrew from her body, and straightened his clothing. Her eyes were closed, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. He watched as her breathing slowed, and she opened glazed eyes to stare back at him.   
  
"Unexpected," she breathed, voice husky as she stretched languorously against the wall. "Release me."  
  
"Not yet," Snape said with a slow, cruel smile as he reached out and trailed fingertips over vulnerable skin. "Not just yet." He skimmed across pale flesh, tracing blue veins over her ribs until he reached the folds of her dress. He delved into an inner pocket and seized his prize, dangling the vial before her eyes.   
  
"Naughty, naughty, Bella." He shook his head in pretended dismay. "You are a meddlesome one, aren't you?"  
  
"Release me." She straightened, anger distorting her face as she struggled against the bindings. "Now, Snape!"  
  
"No, Bella." He pulled the specially prepared canister from his own pocket and slid the fragile vial inside. Tapping it with his wand, it winked out of existence as she strained toward him.   
  
"Our Master is most unhappy with your impetuous behaviour," his voice was soft as comprehension dawned on her face. "Most unhappy indeed."  
  
He cupped her chin gently in his hand, almost a caress as he brought his wand up and pressed it just under her jaw. She froze, trembling beneath his touch. Eyes dark, wide and suddenly as full of fear as of anger.  
  
"As you are so very precious to him, so cherished, he has sent me to give you a warning. Attempt anything like this again, and you  _will_  die." She twisted against him, trying to pull away, but he was relentless. "And with your warning comes your punishment." He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, not at all surprised that she bit him. He licked at the blood she'd drawn, and pressed closer, his lips a hairsbreadth from her own as he whispered a single word.   
  
" _Crucio_."  
  
She shrieked, her head slamming into the wall behind her as her entire body convulsed in the grip of the curse. Snape drew his wand away, ending the spell, and studied her dispassionately as she gasped, supported only by his body and her suspended wrists. She glared at him, defiant despite shaking like a leaf. He raised an eyebrow, and spoke the word again, and then the specified third time as her screams echoed in the confined space. A flick of his wand, and she collapsed on the tiles sobbing, leaving a thin red smear on the pale surface of the wall. He knelt close to her, tilting her chin so that she was looking up at him. Blood trickled down her chin from where her teeth had punctured her own lip, and he grinned.  
  
"Skin as white as snow, lips red as blood, hair as black as ebony. But if I were  _her_  huntsman it would not be a deer’s heart going home in a box." She blinked at him uncomprehending. "Muggle fairytale, Bella. Don't even think of trying to use our little," he paused, enjoying his victory, "dalliance against me. Our Master told me to use any means necessary to stop you." He released her and stood, allowing an expression of disgust to cross his face. "Clean yourself up, and present yourself to him before dawn."   
  
Buoyed by his success he left the lavatory, locking the door behind him. It would give Bellatrix some time to pull herself together. He reached the bottom of the stairs and someone collided with him. He turned, a ready taunt on his lips, to find  _her_  - one hand splayed protectively across her abdomen, the tip of her wand peeking through the fingers of her right hand. Her wand slipped back into her sleeve as he swept his gaze over her body and her jaw tightened as he laughed in derision - at himself, at her. She was pregnant. Her excuses explained. He was done with it.  
  
He moved deliberately, looming over her and forcing her back into a corner, distancing them from the dance floor. Her eyes lit with fury as they flicked from the open neck of his shirt to his mouth, cataloguing the marks Bellatrix had left on his pale skin. He smirked and ran his tongue over his swollen lower lip as he watched her fists clench, and her cheeks flush.  
  
" _Who is she? How dare-_ "  
  
Ignoring the press of bodies around them, ignoring the fact that her husband was close by, ignoring the fact that he had left Bellatrix crumpled and bleeding, he reached out and rubbed his thumb over her lips, silencing her angry interrogation. She was breathtaking like this. Beautiful. Fierce. Territorial. Raging. Fire personified and just barely contained.  
  
"You haven't the right," Snape said as his hand slid across her cheek and under her hair, absently tracing an unfamiliar scar at the nape of her neck, before taking her mouth in a kiss. She stiffened briefly before she succumbed, parting her lips, welcoming him back.  
  
His hand dropped to caress her throat, the thought flitting across his mind that she was so small, so fragile, one twist of his wrist and she would fall at his feet, never Potter's again. He slid his tongue past her lips, gloating over her breathy moan of despair and passion as she clung to him, and hoped she could taste the other woman on his tongue.  
  
His fingers traced further down over soft, warm skin and brushed against the chain she wore. He tugged at the silver, relishing the tiny pained sound she made as the metal dragged against her skin before it snapped. He drew back, and stared down into suddenly tear-filled green eyes.   
  
"Go home, Lily. You don't belong here."  
  
He turned on his heel, and stalked away, the sharp edge of the charm piercing the skin of his palm. He didn't look back. The slap of cold winter air rocked him back on his feet as he left the heat and noise of the club, and he couldn't breathe. He stumbled to a sheltered laneway, breath escaping in white clouds as he rested his forehead against icy brick, striving to calm the frantic hammering of his heart, the pain she inflicted. Long moments later, he stilled, calm once again, and opened his palm to stare at the blood-stained rune.   
  
"Kaunaz," he whispered with quiet intensity. "No more." Straightening, he walked away from the club, away from Bellatrix and her idiotic plans, from Lily and her idealistic treachery, from the ruined trinket abandoned on the street.  
  
His Master was waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt from snarkyroxy: Snape and Bellatrix, before Oct 31st 1981 but after they’ve left school; words to use: favourite, size and plague.
> 
> First uploaded to OWL these long ages past, where I wrote under the name indigofeathers - so don't worry, not stealing another author's words, just playing in JKR's backyard and putting her characters through the wringer.


End file.
